


forever, whatever

by preach_electric



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, M/M, a small section of that scene just as a stream of conscience i guess, and desperately needed something to keep my mind off things, i saw a one sentence prompt list, it kind of came out as a retelling of the final confrontation on the staircase, so i chose a random one and just wrote whatever came to mind in half an hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preach_electric/pseuds/preach_electric
Summary: “Please, don’t do this.”
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	forever, whatever

“Please, don’t do this.”

It almost hurt to say, the words being wrenched out of his throat and spoken on his lips, loud enough for the other man’s eyes to flicker back to him but quiet enough that it only just travelled along the stale air in the room. Dancing in the space between them, the gentle beg almost softening the tone of the situation. Or, depending on how you looked at it, it only made it worse.

Begging was never a good sign. Begging meant you were desperate. Begging meant you were teetering on the edge. Begging meant you would do anything to get what you wanted, anything for pity and salvation. An almost sobbed out ‘please’ to go with it sealed your fate. You either get what you wanted, or you get ruined. Broken into tiny, sharp pieces that no one would ever attempt to put together again lest they bleed themselves.

His face felt dirty. Sweat and dust and blood painted on his skin like a child given a canvas for the first time, the dreadful mixture drying and cracking over what used to be a sweet looking face. Now it just looked broken. 

Lips trembling, trying not to let out sobs; cuts and bruises littered over his cheeks- the closest thing to an intimate touch from the other man he’d had in years; eyes wide and shiny, thick, globular tears threatening to fall down his face and hit the floor with ferocity. He couldn’t stand to see things fall anymore.

His eyes looked dull. No longer the beautiful, deep brown they once were. They used to get compared to chocolate, coffee, gold flecks that shone in the sun. He used to think it was silly; brown eyes are brown eyes. It’s just the romantic in him talking, he thought. But the more his companion had said it, the more he believed it. It’s hard to tell what’s a lie when you’re desperate.

The gun in his hand felt too hard, too cold. When you aim something at someone you once loved, the realisation of what a weapon can do hits you like a freight train. One pull of his finger and he could end it all. What good is giving one man the power of life and death? Who was  _ he _ to decide who got to live? Rarely in a situation where you’re brandishing a gun are you in the right frame of mind to decide whether to shoot or not. One could argue one never is. 

It’s strange how one tiny piece of metal can cause so much grief. It was hard not to reflect on the past years and how many times he himself had used a small piece of metal like this. How many times out of self defence? How many times out of pure need? How many times out of selfishness? You never think about it in the moment. In that split second, all you focus on is  _ cock, aim, fire.  _ It would do good to pause the world for a moment. Really consider who you’re aiming at. Make your decision and press play again. 

That would be useful now. Hit the pause button and just  _ think _ . 

How the hell did he get here?

This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. He was a spy. He wasn’t supposed to go rogue. He wasn’t supposed to run away-- or, run towards something, depending on the angle you looked at. 

He was still a young man. He’d barely lived his life and yet here he was, not sure whether he was going to live to see tomorrow. 

The past four years had been lonely.  _ So  _ lonely. No one but himself would ever know what he’d truly gone through. He didn’t think he would ever want anyone to know, either. Some secrets could never see the light of day, and he knew that. Going into the business of spies meant you  _ had  _ to know that. What happens in the field, stays in the field, and all that. 

It was a tricky thing, however, to fall in love with your partner. Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just pure dumb luck, but getting paired with someone who just happened to be the person who completed you must have meant something. It’s not every day you fall in love.

The problem he found with getting attached to someone was the prospect of losing them. Losing them felt like losing yourself. You don’t do it purposefully, but it just happens. You bare your soul to the person you love and eventually pieces of yourself just latch onto them. Pieces of your heart, your passion, your very being- they belong to that person now. And at the time, it seems like a good idea. You love them, you’d do anything for them. And when you’re considered to be born sick, your love the most gentlest of sins, then you cherish it more. It’s rare, it’s special, it’s  _ yours _ . 

He used to look at him like he was the world. Follow him into uncertainty, maybe even death, but he did it with a love sick expression on his face and a flutter in his heart. They would hold hands, fingers intertwined in a way that said  _ ‘I will never let go’  _ without ever actually speaking the words. There were a lot of unspoken promises- they could never say them out loud. Always the risk of someone else hearing. But they were there, implied declarations of love that were spoken through actions rather than heard. 

Maybe that was their issue. Nothing ever spoken out loud. If you don’t say it then there’s no promise to break, right? Maybe it would soften the blow further down the line. Or maybe it would just make it worse- doubts racking up about whether  _ any  _ of it was real. 

That was the real kicker. When you’re alone and barely conscious and not even sure whether it actually happened. Staring at yourself in the neck of a bottle would warp your reflection, and the liquid inside the bottle would warp your memories. 

He would give anything to feel his kiss one last time. Soft lips ghosting over warm skin, murmurs of encouragement always accompanying like a violin to a piano. Those small stolen moments were special. Just the two of them, one looking down slightly on the other, the height advantage playing well for him. 

Now, on the stairwell, the height advantage was nothing but mocking. Not a playful way to tease your lover, kissing the top of his head and ruffling his hair. No- rather, it was goading. Scornful and harsh. With the light reflecting off the moon streaming in through the weather worn window, it looked like a spotlight beaming behind him. Here, he was the star of the show. The final climax of the show was happening and he’d never been more mournful of having front row seats.

The gun had been pointing at his head moments ago. One shot, right between the eyes. If he had to choose any way to go, it would be that. But his hands had trembled, and his fingers had twitched, and his arm had bent, and the gun was now pointing at his chest. Towards his heart. 

It was fitting, at least. Of course the one who’d broken his heart in the first place had come back for an encore. 

He never thought that this would be how he’d die. In the hands of his lover. 

_ Ex- _ lover. 

He could almost see the fear in his eyes. The tell tale twitch he had, always noticeable when he was trying to hide something too big to keep inside of him. If this was four years ago, he would be asking him  _ ‘what’s wrong?’  _ and offering comfort. Being a shoulder to cry on. But, then again, four years ago he wouldn’t have pointed a gun at him.

The other man took in a breath. He adjusted his grip on the gun. He aimed between his eyes once more.

Love makes you do crazy things.

  
  
  



End file.
